THE DEMOCRATS: Son of Mario - Andrew Cuomo

WASHINGTON whispers, as we all know, and lately it has been whispering about-Andrew Cuomo. He is, of course, son of, and also secretary of housing and urban development. HUD is not exactly a glamour spot, but Cuomo has made the most of it, politically. He is very close to Al Gore, and one whisper has it that he could become the vice president's running mate. If not that, chief of staff, in a Gore administration. If not that, governor of New York, after the 2002 election. Smart, determined, and politically shrewd, Cuomo has as bright a future as any Democrat of his generation. That name doesn't hurt, either. Actually, he has two names that don't hurt, being married to a Kennedy (one of Robert's). Democrats can be excused for salivating over this prince.

Would Gore actually name him to the ticket? Probably not. He has his strengths: He's an "ethnic," and Catholic. And he has eloquence, presence, a New Democratic credential or two, an attractive family (including twin daughters), and those royal names. But he has never held elective office, is barely into his forties, has a scandal-smudged past, and comes from a state that should be in the Democratic column anyway. Gore's better bet might be another cabinet member, energy secretary Bill Richardson, who, though gas prices are up, still has a Mexican mother. Lovely, in today's politics.

Chief of staff, however, makes perfect sense, and governor of New York, even more. Cuomo obviously wants it, it is well within his grasp, and his father is bursting for him to have it. He would have to do something about the state's Democratic comptroller, Carl McCall, who has already begun to campaign. But that should be no problem. Andrew and his backers could easily induce McCall to step aside, avoiding the unpleasantness of a primary.

Ask around about Cuomo, and you get strikingly common responses: bright, ambitious, proud, impressive, thin-skinned, aggressive, hard-hitting, thuggish, brutal. Seldom will a reporter do a story and find so much fear surrounding his subject. People-even his fans-are reluctant to talk about him, conscious of his power and wrath. "He can get you," is something you often hear. "Vindictive son-of-a-bitch," is a typical description. One Cuomo-watcher notes that Andrew "practices an old-style politics, ward- boss politics," the politics of a bruiser. Cuomo is notorious among reporters for going to unusual lengths to control any coverage of his activities. Yet he has the world's most charming and affable press secretary-go figure. Every operation needs a good cop, apparently.

Then there is that temper-the Cuomo temper, one of the most fabled in Washington. Most insiders have a store of Cuomo-temper stories, some of them truly hair-curling. "Woe unto you if you get on Andrew's bad side," says one who has worked with him, and admires him. When it comes to temper, "he makes John McCain look like Winnie the Pooh." Cuomo will erupt volcanically among his inner circle, while these fits are "shielded from the outside world." The Cuomo associate goes on to say, however, that Andrew has a noble Democratic heart: "He has a Rooseveltian, a Kennedyesque sense of public service, and that, combined with his sharp political elbows, ain't bad."

Cuomo was born in 1957, and learned politics at his father's knee. In 1982, just after graduating from law school, he ran his father's first campaign for governor. They won. For two years, Andrew served as his father's top adviser, drawing a dollar a year. Later, he became a partner in a Manhattan law firm, filled with shady characters who would soon cause him grief. Cuomo, along with some others, invested in a Florida savings and loan called Oceanmark. Messy and intricate lawsuits ensued. Luckily for Cuomo, they are as difficult to understand-and mind-numbing in their details-as Whitewater. Still, Cuomo is super-sensitive on the subject. When The American Spectator was preparing an article on Oceanmark, Cuomo had his men send the magazine a comically threatening letter.

In 1986, Cuomo performed the signature act of his career, founding HELP, which stands for Housing Enterprise for the Less Privileged. This organization-it is now run by one of his siblings-is dedicated to building "transitional housing" and to the idea of a "continuum of care," whereby the down-and-out are guided to self-sufficiency, step by step. HELP is what President Bush twinklingly referred to as a "point of light." Cuomo has derided this language, but it applies.

Even while engaged in this project, however, Cuomo was never far from politics. He had a (famous) direct line into the governor's office. And he was not averse to throwing his weight around, dropping ominous hints- "You can be replaced, you know"-when state officials and others refused to do his bidding. Even many who share his politics and his passion for social activism recoil in disgust at the mention of his name, regarding him as a bully-boy.

Cuomo came to national attention in 1991, when Mayor David Dinkins tabbed him to head the city's commission on the homeless. The report he produced-"The Way Home: A New Direction in Social Policy"-was something of a shocker. It confirmed the neoconservative critique of the homelessness problem. "For too long," Cuomo conceded, "we did not want to admit the truth, because to admit the truth could be seen as criticism of [the homeless themselves]." The problem, Cuomo admitted, was not one of poverty, of lack of housing. Rather, it had "many roots," including "troubled family histories, drug or alcohol problems, and premature deinstitutionalization from mental hospitals." He even charged that "the very term 'homeless' is a misnomer." He sneered at "crusaders" and quipped that "an apartment doesn't cure a crack addiction"-a remark worthy of Irving Kristol himself. Cuomo called for "a new war on poverty," to be waged by a private-public partnership. The free market would supply the expertise; the government, the dough.